How the Gryffindors Won The War
by whoisthed
Summary: In 1998, a battle was fought on Hogwarts grounds, signifying the end of the Second Wizarding War. That colorful tale was woven in mostly red and gold, with the faintest streaks of blue and yellow… But green seemed to have belonged in a different tapestry. A series of slightly interconnected, slightly Draco-centric oneshots describing the life and times of our favorite Slytherins.
1. Malfoy: The List

How the Gryffindors Won The War  
 **Chapter 1**  
 **Malfoy: The List**

 _1991_

Lucius Malfoy was a proud man. Despite the limp, his gait was steady, cane in hand. Despite the whispers and the pointed stares, his head was held high as he walked with his beautiful wife and child along Diagon Alley.

Young Draco was unusually quiet, knuckles white, holding onto his mother's hand. But his grey eyes were twinkling in excitement as he marveled at the unfamiliar sights and sounds. He had never seen so many people in his entire life, which he had spent cooped up in the lonely Manor. In his excitement he didn't even notice the way their eyes widened, the way their eyebrows raised, the way the crowd dispersed just the tiniest bit as their family walked by.

"My precious son," Narcissa murmured, as Draco stood in Madame Malkin's, a floating measuring tape sizing him up. "All grown up, going to Hogwarts."

"Mother," his voice finally came out in a whisper "Do you think they'll like me?" Lucius's eyes met his wife's, flashing in momentary panic.

"I've never met other children before, except for Theodore. Will they like me?"

Lucius Malfoy had made mistakes in his life. One particular mistake, especially, that cost him much more than he bargained for.

 _"MALFOY: INNOCENT VICTIM OR COWARDLY TURNCLOAK?"_  
 _"MALFOY UNDER 'IMPERIUS', CLEARED OF ALL CHARGES"_  
 _"MALFOY FAMILY DISGRACED BUT ABSOLVED"_

The newspaper headlines had been relentless. Then the barrage of owls, angry letters, demanding compensation for damages done. All of a sudden the Malfoys found themselves to have very few friends and enemies from all sides.

So when the tiny blonde boy's eyes searched his father's, he felt a slight pang in his chest. _You're a Malfoy, boy. These days, they probably will not._

Lucius Malfoy was a proud man. They could take everything away from him, but they will never take his pride.

"Of course they will like you," he said as he knelt to his son's height. "You're a Malfoy, boy. A proud, superior pureblood family." He found himself telling his son the words that had been drummed into his consciousness since his own boyhood. Blood purity, magic supremacy, blah blah. It was almost a script, a routine. At one point in his life, shaking under his mask and cloak, staring at glassy-eyed bodies strewn in the streets, he hardly knew what it all meant anymore. But right now it was easy, and it was convenient, and it will save the boy a lot of strife, and preserve what little dignity his father had left.

"Draco," Lucius began, cautiously. "When… When you meet the other children in Hogwarts, you must remember these names. Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Parkinson… these are the children that you are … safe to fraternize with."

"Safe, Father?" Draco asked worriedly. "Safe from what?"

Lucius could not bear to tell him, could not explain to this child what kind of judgment might await him, the only son and tiny exact replica of Lucius Malfoy. Children are cruel, after all, and their parents even crueler. His father may have been deemed innocent by the courts, where their influence had barely seeped through, but he had been deemed guilty in his trial by publicity.

"These are the children whose families are as esteemed as ours," he opted instead. "Purebloods, like us. You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others. Do not settle for any inferior companions. Chin up, back straight, son."

The little Malfoy complied, ticking the names off his mental list. "Crabbe, Goyle, Nott…"

Just then, a gigantic hairy man walked into the store, alongside a tiny boy, with round glasses, jet black hair, and bright green eyes.

 _Potter_ , he said his name was. It wasn't part of his father's list, but Draco couldn't help but wonder…

*****  
1996

Draco's heart pounded in his ears. His knuckles throbbing, momentarily making him forget the slight burning sensation on his left forearm. _Potter_ , he shook his head, _Always stupid bloody fucking Potter_.

He couldn't help but smirk as he draped the invisibility cloak over the bloodied, unconscious form of his rival. As he alighted the Hogwarts Express, he felt the tiniest satisfaction as he remembered his 11-year old self, suffering his first monumental defeat by Potter in that very train. He had offered his friendship, and was shot down in a very humiliating way.

Ah, but now he had emerged victorious, with Potter's nose cracking as it collided with his fist, served him right for sticking it into other people's business. Justice at last.

Why had he tried befriending that git anyway? He knew the name Potter wasn't on the list his father gave him. He should've listened to his father.

 _His father in Azkaban._

His face turned somber as his thoughts were pulled back to reality, to the burning on his left forearm, to his incarcerated father's filthy, broken image, to a deathly white face with burning red eyes speaking in hisses, an Herculean, horrifying task. A chill ran down his spine. Things were different now, it wasn't about making friendships or playing pranks or Quidditch, or grades anymore. Everything, his entire life, turning into shit.

But the list remained the same. Malfoy, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson… People he could trust, if trust was even an option as of now. He may be losing control of everything around him, but he had that list.

That list was pretty much all he had.


	2. Nott: The Sight

**Chapter 2**  
 **Nott: The Sight**

* * *

 _1986_

"Draco," his voice came out a whisper.

Draco jumped at the loud crack, shocked that his friend suddenly appeared in his bedroom, eyes dancing wildly, wide in terror.

"Theo! What-?"

No words came out of the six-year-old's mouth.

Draco Malfoy did not understand it, but he knew something was horribly wrong. He swiftly grabbed his friend's wrist and ran, making his way through the countless rooms of the spacious manor to find his mother.

What happened next was a blur - Draco's mother brought the child back to his house a few blocks away, to find a woman's form slumped on the ground near their sink, dirty dishes shattered around her. Narcissa had to floo Lucius, who had to find and accompany a visibly shaken Theodore Nott Sr. home from the Ministry.

That was the first time the shy, quiet Theodore Nott Jr. ever showcased any magical ability.

There weren't many guests at his mother's funeral, after all, at that time, surnames were still quite sensitive and a Nott was a Nott. Throughout the affair, Draco held Theo's wrist tightly, creasing the sleeve of his tiny black coat.

* * *

 _1992_

A mouse-like, yellow-haired girl was crying inconsolably. The other first years were getting impatient.

"Climb the carriage already!"  
"What a baby!"

"But they scare me," the tiny girl whispered.

"What's scaring you? There's nothing scary!"  
"Is she daft? What is she seeing?"  
"We're going to miss the feast!"

Theo stared at the spectacle. Wordlessly, he got off the carriage he was on ( _"Oy! D'you wanna miss the feast too? Get back here!" Malfoy was his oldest friend and still his most annoying_ ) and approached the girl.

"Don't listen. You're not daft," he mumbled, inaudible to those around them. "I can see them too." He grabbed her wrist and they climbed onto the carriage together.

He didn't say another word even as they reached the castle. He wasn't really much of a talker.

* * *

 _1996_

Theo always waited until everyone was already beginning to board the train before packing his things. He didn't have much to pack, anyway, and he much preferred to avoid the noise. He entered his dorm, which was thankfully empty, save for one Draco Malfoy who had just finished his own packing.

Normally, Draco would be there in the thick of the crowd, making all the noise himself, but today, Theo understood why he preferred the silence.

A gaudy tabloid was crumpled in his hand, "DEATH EATERS ATTACK THE MINISTRY?," a man's silver white hair barely visible on the creased cover.

They regarded each other in silence for a long time. Eventually, Draco started walking out of the dorm room, dragging his trunk slowly behind him. As he reached the door, he cleared his throat and said, "I'm sorry about your father."

"I'm sorry about yours," Nott answered, heavily, as if a great weight hung in the room. They knew exactly what the other meant.

As Malfoy left, Theo stared out of the window into the Great Lake, feeling weary all of a sudden. He squinted, unsure of what he was seeing. Floating inside a charmed bubble, a pair of blue sneakers, with tiny pink strawberries.

* * *

He found her in the forest, his trunk in one hand and the sopping sneakers in the other. She was barefoot, tossing raw meat at the beasts only the two of them could seemingly see.

He dropped the sneakers near her feet.

She smiled at him through her strange looking glasses.

"Thank you, Theodore. Funny how I always seem to be thanking you."

He didn't answer.

"You remember of course? I was afraid of them, and you told me I wasn't daft. They still call me daft sometimes, but when they do, I always remember what you said." She continued in her feathery, sing-song voice.

"I never got to ask though. Was it your mother as well?"

* * *

 _1997_

Theo awoke to screaming and running and chaos. He stood there, frozen, as Slytherins scampered out of their beds, heading in different directions.

"Theo," the voice came out as barely a whisper.

There was Draco Malfoy, face pale, eyes dancing wildly, wide in terror.

Theo did not need any words as he grabbed Draco's wrist and ran. He led him through the dungeons, through the panicking crowds. They ran and ran, they did not stop until they reached a clearing in the Forbidden Forest, finally feeling some semblance of safety.

"Theo-" Draco panted, his voice breaking, "I've done it- I mean- I didn't - Snape - _Dumbledore is dead._ "

Theo's grip on his wrist did not loosen, the desperation painted on both their faces. _What happens now? Where do we go now?_

Their eye contact broke as a shrill cry rang through the air. Draco's head snapped up. He gaped at the sight above them, finally seeing what Theo had seen all along. A great bony beast, with blank white eyes, bat-like wings stretched as it soared through the night sky.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you see what I'm trying to do, just little oneshots in different Slytherins' perspectives. Reviews welcome, especially with the timeline as that's where things get a little loopy. Hope you liked Theo and Draco constantly holding hands in a manly way :* :***


	3. Zabini: The Indifferent

**Chapter 3**  
 **Zabini: The Indifferent**

* * *

 _1996_

If there was one thing Blaise Zabini was proud to have perfected, it was his cool. His indifference.

After all, after 7 different "dads," 7 different funerals, 7 different instances of enduring whispers and rumors behind his back, one would tire of constantly having emotional outbursts, whether it be bouts of anger or tears.

So instead Zabini would brush off everything with a shrug, a gorgeous smirk, a sarcastic quip. Nothing fazes Blaise Zabini. Not anymore.

Besides, the pokerface made his cheekbones look amazing.

Malfoy sat up indignantly.  
"But that Weasley girl! What's so special about her?"  
"A lot of boys like her," said Pansy, nodding towards Blaise. "Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!"

He knew who they meant of course. Flaming red hair, as she whizzed through the Quidditch field fiercely. Burning eyes, daring him to speak as she dragged a hapless boy out of a broom closet, lips bruised, tie askew. She was beautiful. A woman all fire and no ice.

 _Better play it cool, Zabini._

"I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like," came his snarled response. _Too much?_ He worried, but his friends seemed satisfied as Draco lay his head back down on Pansy's lap.

Some friends, huh?

He didn't expect to be friends with them, at first. Maybe only Nott who, just like Blaise, kept to himself while others kept away from him. Blaise always kept it cordial when it came to his classmates, kept it impersonal.

Maybe it was after Dad #5. He had been gone for days, some spent at the funeral and some just spent hiding away in his room. He knew he had to steel himself when he went back.

When he returned, there was Malfoy flanked by his gang, filthy in his Quidditch uniform. They'd just lost a match, the air was tense, moods were sour, and they were obviously looking for a target.

"Alright there, Zabini? Mother still making poor choices in men?" his voice came out a drawl.

Zabini was shell-shocked. He was used to the bloody Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs gaping at him stupidly, backstabbing him as he passed them in the halls. But this? In his own common room? It was, well, _front-_ stabbing?

Nott bumped Malfoy with his shoulder. "You're one to talk, Malfoy, have you seen your father?" To Blaise's surprise the entire common room hooted with laughter, with Malfoy laughing right along with them.

"Shut the fuck up, Nott, have you seen yours?"  
"Don't laugh, Parkinson, at least MY mother chose a good-looking Death Eater to bang,"  
"Crabbe, Goyle, get in here, we're talking about who has the best fathers,"  
"Unfair, Zabini has so many to choose from!"

 _What a fucked up bunch. Malfoy, Nott, Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle. The product of the most dysfunctional, borderline-incestuous of all wizarding families. Casually laughing in the face of the darkness._

He knew had it been outside their little circle, had it been literally anyone else talking like that, all of them would have their wands out in an instant, fangs up. But in here, basking the green glow of the lake as the sun set, in their slightly damp room that smelled of moss and mint, there were no boundaries, no lines to be toed, no taboos. Somehow, it was easy. In this band of misfits, somehow, he fit right in.

"I'll have my mother owl yours a couple of tips on dealing with men, then," he said, coolly, as the group around him cackled.

Despite his absences, all his homework had been handed in, in three different styles of penmanship.

* * *

 _1997_

Blaise wasn't stupid. He wasn't in on the whole Death Eater business, thank Merlin. He knew it wasn't his battle.

But he wasn't stupid. He knew something was up as he watched Malfoy become more and more gaunt and disheveled ( _Shame, guess he had to carry all of Slytherin's good looks by himself_ ). He knew what he heard as he slithered past Snape's office at night. ("Focus your mind, Malfoy! Don't let me in!") Most of all he knew that Malfoy needed help, and that he pretty much had to break his arm for him to accept it.

"Just let me practice with you, Draco. I can help you, I don't care what I find in your greasy head."  
"You don't understand! You'd never understand I-I've seen things-"  
"So have I."  
"It's different, Blaise! You wouldn't-"  
"So try me."  
"You don't-"  
"Just FUCKING DO IT MALFOY!"

 _"Legilimens!"_

He could've blocked him, years of self-study in Occlumency afforded him that. But he let him in. He let Malfoy explore his mind, he let Malfoy see that beautiful woman, the minx with poison on her lips. He saw the men who fell to the floor, eyes wide open with acid burns on their face as her stilettos walked over them… He saw her, hungry for enough power and affluence, that maybe- just maybe- a certain Dark Wizard would turn his gaze upon her… He saw a young dark-skinned boy, shivering under his blanket, he felt that terror, that feeling of constant danger, of being utterly alone, that intense fear of a kiss goodnight from the lady just in the next room…

The connection broke. Blaise strode over to Malfoy and delivered a strong backhand slap. "There," he spat. "Happy?"  
Malfoy's voice broke. "Zabini, I-"  
"I don't give a shit if he sees your secrets, Malfoy," He grabbed the other's collar in both hands, his voice dangerously low. "But don't you _fucking_ dare let him see mine."

He ran a hand through his curly locks as he walked away. He regretted losing his cool with Malfoy, what was he without his cool? Somehow, he felt it important, necessary even. Malfoy, that piece of shit, was always weak and unsure of himself, but when it came down to his closest friends' trust, he could become downright invincible.

Sure, it wasn't Blaise's battle. It wasn't his war to fight. But he cared about so few people that he'd be damned to watch Draco Malfoy lose his.

* * *

 _1998_

It had been weeks since he had seen Malfoy.

Despite being enrolled in 7th year, he rarely showed up, and when he did, he was unnaturally quiet, spaced out, and just generally pathetic looking. Of course Theo Nott, fiercely loyal fucking Hufflepuff that he was, never left his side, glowering at everyone with a hand always touching his wand. When Draco wasn't there, Theo managed alone.

But the two hulking brutes, Crabbe and Goyle, found themselves pretty lonely and have taken to following Blaise around like a replacement Malfoy. Blaise found it didn't help him much with the ladies, and could almost feel his IQ slipping down a few notches when he listened to them speak, so he found himself ducking into corridors trying to avoid them lately.

In this particular corridor, he found her, alone, head in hands, sobbing loudly.

Maybe he should have turned back. Or kept walking like he didn't see anything.

But there was something about her that irked him, tears traversing through the freckles, shoulders slumped, defeated, a ghost of her former self. Her hair didn't even seem as red anymore.

"The fuck are you doing crying in here? Ten points from Gryffindor."  
"L-leave me alone, you're not a p-prefect, Zabini."  
"Puh-puh-puh prefect? Pathetic." He _sounded_ like a replacement Malfoy and hated it, this wasn't his brand. This wasn't his style. "Crying for your boyfriend again, huh? Do you miss looking at that stupid face of his?"  
She only sobbed quietly and avoided his eyes. Zabini felt the bile climb up his throat.  
"Aww, you do huh? Poor little heartbroken bloodtraitor." _Merlin, did Draco's ghost possess him or something? He couldn't stop._ "Well, for your sake, I hope they catch him soon, so you can finally see him hanging from the-"

Blaise didn't know what hit him first, the girl's fist or the slew of curses she screamed at him.

He must have been a masochist, because when he finally made it out of the hospital wing, his heart leapt whenever he saw her. With a burning fury, a renewed zeal, burning him with that glare of hers. Head held high, proudly, defiantly displaying the marks the Carrows inflicted on her arms and legs. He didn't even try to avoid her at all. If there was one thing he learned in that sham education he had in 7th year, it would be dodging curses.

When the battle finally began, Blaise was quick to snake his way through to the tunnels. After all, it wasn't his war. It wasn't his battle.

En route, he caught a glimpse of her, flaming red hair flowing wildly behind her. Teeth bared, eyes burning, clearing a path, as she threw hexes left and right.

There she was, at her pinnacle. Bigger and brighter than ever, a beautiful and terrifying sight to behold. _A woman of pure fire_ , scorching anyone who strayed into her path.

 _Attagirl_ , Blaise Zabini almost whispered, a smile playing upon his lips. It wasn't his war to fight. It wasn't his battle. But hell if he can't admire Ms. Ginevra Weasley fight hers.

* * *

 **A/N: You can't sit with us! Mean Girls, Slytherin edition, with er, mostly boys! This was a longer one, kind of got carried away. I dunno how many times I used the word "cool" in this chapter but I was trying to achieve that chill Zabini feel B-) Borrowed a couple lines from the train conversation in HBP. hope you liked it. Reviews welcome.**


	4. Parkinson: The Romantic

1993

 _"Dear Daddy, The most awful thing happened today, Draco Malfoy, My Boyfriend, (if you recall) was attacked by a Hippogriff! You can Imagine his father was very angry. When Draco and I get married I would never allow my children near wild creatures. Thank you for the package you sent me, I would love it if you sent more. I love you very much. Love, Pansy Malfoy nee Parkinson"_

Ava Parkinson chuckled at the letter, in purple ink, with the i's dotted with hearts.

"Who was the owl from?" Payton Parkinson asked, a hint of concern in his voice

"Your daughter, she wrote you a very amusing-" He waved the parchment away.

"I'm needed at work, I'll read it later." The door slammed behind him as she added the parchment to a small pile of unread letters.

1994

" _You_ wouldn't know what love is, you vile creature!"

Pansy Parkinson didn't expect those words to sting as much as they did. Hence, her weak comeback. ("Jeez, Granger, no need to get so snippy and defensive,")

Because _of course_ she knew what love was. How dare she, that bushy (well not so bushy today) squirrel of a girl in that gorgeous Yule Ball gown she didn't deserve, make-up smeared, crying on the stairs about _fucking Ronnie Weasel for crying out loud_ , how dare she lecture her about love.

OF COURSE SHE KNEW.

Pansy had been in love for as long as she can remember. Ever since she met that beautiful, sleek, blonde boy in one of her father's parties. Ever since she sat with him on the Hogwarts train. Every smirk, every retort, every swish of his broom.

Of course Pansy knew what it was like to be in love. Truthfully, irrevocably, painfully in love. So in love that she'd noticed Draco's secretive glances, she'd watch his eyes glaze over, seen that little twitch in his bottom lip every time he mentions her name. _(He'd snarl, "Granger's looking particularly shabby today," but his eyes told a different story, one that Pansy would prefer not to read in those steely grays)_

How dare she, especially tonight. The one night all her childhood fantasies were supposed to be realized, when she finally had his arm in hers, as his DATE - all that ruined.

She could all but hear his heart beat faster as he pined from afar, his head slightly turning as she walked past, all polished in that fucking beautiful, soft periwinkle dress, his breath catching. Meanwhile she withered at his side, a great weight crushing her chest, tears threatening to fall at the corners of her eyes.

 _"Aww poor weeping Granger, tell me, how much does it suck to be sooo in love with a tool like THAT?"_

Merlin, Pansy knew exactly how much it sucked - to love a tool that wouldn't love her back.

1997

She found herself in Malfoy Manor. Or what used to be Malfoy Manor. It reeked of blood and the putrid smell death mixed with bleach.

"You didn't need to come, Ms. Parkinson." Lucius Malfoy spoke softly. _He'd rather not have you here,_ she translated.

"But I'm here, aren't I?"

Nott wasn't good with words, but she didn't need many to come rushing. Something about Draco, failing to kill a muggleborn, a public execution at the manor, and the Cruciatus curse.

She walked slowly up the winding staircase, traversed the path she knew well.

His door was unlocked.

Her heart lurched when she saw the discarded clothes on the floor, his pale, febrile, shuddering form lying in fetal position on the floor, lying in a small puddle of vomit.

 _Fuck me, this was not how I had imagined seeing the boy I'm in love with naked for the first time._

She stared at him for the longest time, as he lay shivering on the shiny wooden floor. She couldn't quite understand it. This wasn't the boy she'd always crushed on. There was no bravado, no swagger, no smug smirk, no biting wit. This wasn't the boy who owned the Hogwarts halls, the boy who taunted everyone, the Slytherin Seeker, the prefect, the Head Boy.

This was Draco, just Draco.

He jerked violently when she finally touched him.

"It's just me, Draco."

"P-Pansy," he clung to her, held her so tight that it hurt, shaking with raw sobs as she led him to the bathroom. The running water drowned out his gasping as Pansy Parkinson, the pureblood princess who never once did any household chores in her life, washed the vomit out of his light blonde hair.

There was nothing on her mind except the task at hand. There was no future marriage, no kissing, no seduction, no sex. Just washing the stupid terrified boy, get him into warm pajamas, tuck him in, get him to sleep. She didn't leave his side for 2 days.

 _You wouldn't know what love is, you vile creature, Granger's words rang in her ears._

1998

Where the FUCK was Draco Malfoy?

"Get out of here, Parkinson, I don't want to hurt you!" She whipped her head around to see Longbottom- _Bloody Longbottom, barking orders at her?_ \- sprinting behind her.

"Neville!" She heard a familiar voice cry.

There she was. On the ground, rolling around to dodge the jets of green light firing from the wand of none other than Payton Parkinson.

Pansy's heart pounded in her ears. Her wand hand trembled as she made the quickest, _stupidest,_ most illogical decision she had ever made in her life.

"Bloody-FUCKING-HELL! FUCK! ME! Stupefy!" She yelled as she sent red sparks from her wand. She felt a warmth whizzing past her ear and watched as two sets of red sparks hit her father square in the back. She watched her father fall in what seemed like slow motion. Her eyes briefly met Longbottom's, who stared at her, perplexed. She ran before Hermione or anyone else could register what just happened.

She could rationalize this later. She could say that she was aiming at her, and missed. She could say she was merely trying to prevent her father from becoming a murderer. But Pansy knew that wasn't true. The truth is she did it because she was a bloody romantic, a fool, an imbecile. A bloody fucking martyr. She did it for him. She did it cause she _loved_ him.

She knew Draco Malfoy would never love her back, the way the stupid bushy mudblood rat would never love _him_ back. He would never look at her with that shine, that glaze in his eyes, but maybe if Hermione didn't die… Well, maybe she could catch a glimpse of it when he looked at her. She'd settle for that.

"I'm a stupid bloody idiot," she muttered to herself, as she wiped the single tear she allowed herself to shed.


	5. Malfoy: The Nest

**Chapter 5**  
Malfoy: The Nest

 _1992_

"Just l-lemme t-try again!"

Marcus Flint tried his very best to not laugh as the tiny blonde boy frantically wiped at the blood pouring from his nose. The rest of the team were still roaring in laughter, recalling how just a few minutes ago the whistle blew, they all kicked off their brooms, and their one tryout flew promptly into a nearby tree.

"I don't think so, mousey boy," he said, waving his wand to stop the bleeding. "Try Potions maybe? That might be more your thing."

"Please!" Draco pleaded, "I can fly well! I've practiced around the manor!" He was clutching on the sleeve of Marcus's robes now. "It might be just this Cleansweep! I'll use another broom! I'll have my dad buy me a new broom! He'll buy us all brooms!"

Marcus thought about his options. If he wanted to keep his team in the games, he really needed a seeker to replace Higgs.

 _And let's face it, no one else showed up at try outs. Bloody Slytherin shut-ins and their weird indoor hobbies. Gryffindor had tryouts for days._ He thought bitterly.

 _But that kid DID just slam into a tree._

"I said no," He said gruffly, staring the kid down. The kid was staring back up at him, tears forming in his eyes, heels dug into the ground. He seemed as if he wasn't taking no for an answer. _Stupid AND stubborn_.

The snitch floated above the kid's head, slowly circling, a gold halo whispering a little sing-song: _Give-the boy-a chance_.

"Fine, one condition." He said as he scooped the snitch up, "FETCH." He tossed it back high into the air, and kicked off his broom, the rest of his team jeering and whizzing behind him, and Draco scrambling to that old Cleansweep that almost doomed him a few minutes ago.

It was completely dark when he finally caught it, long after practice was done, and he burst into the Common Room handing Flint the snitch with filthy, shaking hands.

The new brooms were a plus, but that new kid? Stupid, stubborn, not very good at Quidditch when you think about it. _But he was extremely, irritatingly persistent._

The first game was, as expected, a disaster. And so was the second. And the third. The first time he actually caught the snitch was already mid-season, at a Hufflepuff-Slytherin game. Bole had picked him up and the entire House screamed like banshees.

"The Greenest and Meanest!" Pucey hollered, pointing at Draco's tree and the whole team cackled. Snape huffed and rolled his eyes but they knew he was secretly fond of all of them.

Stupid, stubborn boy. Flint chuckled to himself. Just like the rest of us.

 _1994_

The Common Room turned the bright morning sunlight into a rich emerald, cooling and comforting Pansy's swollen eyes. The room was in shambles, the aftermath of the Yule Ball.

"There, there," soothed Daphne Greengrass, sweet and sarcastic, stroking Pansy's head on her shoulder. "How dare he ignore you all night long. Why do you even LIKE him? He's such a prat. Remember that time he was acting all tough and cool and indifferent, but he was secretly afraid of hippogriffs?"

"And when that hippogriff snapped his arm like a twig?" Tracey Davis offered, Daphne laughed even more.

"Remember when he challenged Nott in arm wrestling," Daphne gestured in his direction, "and Nott almost snapped his arm off… AGAIN?"

"Remember when Mad-Eye Moody turned him into a ferret? A bloody ferret!"

Pansy remembered the tiny beady eyes and the squeaking and finally managed a little chuckle. She had been scandalized at that time, but in retrospect it was pretty hilarious.

"He did get into Slytherin team the hard way," she offered, "Hard like wood." Their laughs tinkled like green glass bottles. "He's a terrible date," Pansy rubbed her eyes, and the blonde hair and silver eyes floated into her mind again. She bit her lip to stop crying. "But I still like him."

"But whyyyy?" Her gorgeous friend whined. Pansy thought for a while.

"I dunno."

"Well… I mean Draco _is_ cute." Daphne relented.

"He's pretty smart at potions," Offered Tracey. "And he's just like a people person, y'know? Outgoing, and talkative and the Slytherins just like him. And-"

"Alright, shush, Trace, keep it in your pants," Daphne said, rolling her eyes. "I thought it was Pansy who fancied him, not you."

"He saved my life once," piped up Crabbe who was just passing by.

"GET OUT OF HERE CRABBE YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT WE'RE TALKING ABOUT!"

As Daphne, Crabbe and Tracey bickered in the background. Pansy turned to Theo, who was sitting quietly in the corner, picking at the corner of a Christmas present. "Why do YOU like him?"

"Don't bring me into this," he said quietly. Pansy looked at him imploringly but said nothing.

"He… just needs me y'know? So I stick by him." Theo finally relented, struggling to explain. "Cause I've needed him before. And he was there." Daphne and Tracey burst out laughing and started crooning Celestina Warbeck songs celebrating their two friends' love story. But Pansy stared at Theo in understanding.

 _I like him because he's me. He's Theo. It's solidarity. It's a need. It's survival._

"What a fantastic night, amirite - Ow!" Draco Malfoy sauntered in wearing shiny green pajamas. Daphne had chucked a wrapped present at him and the way it shattered on the floor sounded like it was made out glass.

"Apologize!" She screeched. Tracey also began screaming and throwing presents at Malfoy. Theo smiled at Pansy, and took his own present, quite a large box, and threw it at Malfoy who was yelling obscenities.

Pansy took her own present - a luxurious black jumper- and shoved it into Malfoy's chest. He frowned at her, still not understanding why he was being assaulted by presents.

"I forgive you," she pouted, giving him a little kiss on the cheek. "But you're still a prat."

 _1998_

The entire castle was fraught with tension. The Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and even the Ravenclaws had their wands up, pointed at them.

Pansy's decision came in a milisecond, she was the viper that hissed and struck lightning fast. She decided even before the question was posed.

"The time has come for Slytherin House to decide upon its loyalties," Professor McGonagall had announced.

And so the Slytherins thought about it. They stared at the accusing eyes of their classmates, the wall of red, blue and yellow in front of them, hostile and seething. They thought about green-tinged mornings in their Common Room, cold and damp, safe and hidden. _It's just us in here._

They thought about dying for Harry Potter and his friends who had nothing but distrust and disdain for them. They thought about dying for Justice and Equality and the Greater Good, and all these abstract ideas that didn't do shit for them in their own shitty childhoods.

They thought about black cloaks and terrifying masks and the even more terrifying truth of who might be behind them. Fathers? Mothers? Siblings? Years of secrecy and ambiguity finally crumbling down. They thought about holidays, they thought about dinners in their homes. About family.

Most of all they thought about their friend. Their scrawny blonde friend with the gaunt cheeks, the haunted eyes, the cursed tattoo on his forearm. They remembered when he was loud, they remembered his strut. They remembered the kid who flew into a tree in second year, the frenzy of his first snitch, his first kiss in the courtyard, his taunts, his tall tales, his ornery Potions tutoring in the library, and how all these joyful things were sucked out of him like a Dementor's Kiss, in a span of a couple years, as he was forced to grow up beyond his actual age.

The boy they almost lost. The boy who may as well be marked for dead, _but still lives._

The boy who, in any other turn of events, could have been any single one of them.

One by one, the snakes wound their bodies together, weaving a protective shield, a nest. Theodore Nott's arm was around Pansy Parkinson, shaking with anger. Daphne and Astoria Greengrass were clasping hands. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle stood tall, their backs shielding Draco Malfoy, who stood there, staring at his shoes.

When they left, not a single Slytherin was left in the room.

The Gryffindors were called brave. The Ravenclaws, lauded as tactical. Hufflepuffs, fiercely loyal.

But for what they showed at the Great Hall, the Slytherins were called cowards.

In the chaos of evacuation, only Crabbe and Goyle noticed Draco slipping away from the crowd.

-  
Author's note:

I always kind of abandon this fic, then it floats back into my consciousness.

Anyway, my headcanon for this one is slowly solidifying. It used to be just "the unsung Slytherin Song" but now I'm kind of getting the picture.

I call it my Malfoy: The Baby Rodent Beloved By Snakes trope. Basically the gist is that Malfoy isn't the teen leader of the Slytherin Gang. I mean, look at them! They're a bunch of super cool cats with troubling home lives and then there's …. Malfoy. Loud, brash, kind of stupid, kind of pathetic, gets in all kinds of trouble. But they love him. They celebrate him. He's like that annoying little brother who's sweet in his own way. Draco isn't Slytherin's Harry. He's Slytherin's …. Colin Creevey. They'll roast him in the Common Room but in the Great Hall, it's all fangs up when they go for him.

What do you think? Idk I really like this idea. I always thought that Harry and Draco's situations were two sides of the same coin. Sometimes even their behavior was same to a fault, like how either of them will insist on not getting help. But the Gryffindors and the Slytherins they surround themselves with will react to that in very different ways.


End file.
